My sister asked me yesterday if I would be with her in the delivery room for the birth of her baby in February. I got all lightheaded, nauseous and faint. I told my dear, darling, precious sister that I couldn't even be in the barn when the mares foaled and instructed that my job began when the afterbirth was removed. "Oh," she laughed. "I forgot about that. Never mind." But I was more than pleased to be invited to witness this blessed, event, even though my tolerance for other people's pain is expressed with my head between my knees.
This Thanksgiving, my sister will not be allowed to handle any of my kitchen knives: she once cut her finger badly with my rapier paring knife and I nearly fainted. Someone asked, "Should we take her to the ER?" And my sister replied, "No, she'll stop hyperventilating once the blood is cleaned up."
Wit is ever plentiful when my family gathers in/crams into my house for holidays. My brother will announce that he is really not going to take anyone to the emergency room that day. Clumsiness resulting in medical attention also runs in the family. The food will be divine and our faces will be tired from smiling and laughing. Even discussing religion and politics seldom can mar the conviviality of our feast.
My little house will be full to the eaves with my nephews laughing, screaming, beating on each other, the smell of roasting turkey and all the homemade fixins, my aunt's Corn Thang [the only thing the grown children might fight over], her woes about the impending apocalypse of economy, weather or society in general, the entire contents of my sister in laws's 2 fridges transported from Chicago: just in case, you never know, we might, run out of food, Lucy playing with the boys and then somewhere about six pm on Saturday becoming nephew over-saturated, seeking refuge under everyone's feet, add to that some horse riding for the boys, maybe a carriage drive, too and I simply can not wait. I love it all.
I'm not sure how we concocted to not be stressed, or fall fowl of the typical family holiday traumas. Somehow, we've got the recipe just right. Next year, we'll add a little more whipped cream on top with the addition of a baby. That my sister will produce without any help from me. Thank God.
Wishing you bountiful gratitude and kind regards,
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